When life gives you 15 pounds of lamb, stuff into a car and have a barbecue in the middle of a Wadi? It actually started out in two cars, headed to a valley filled with fifty Jordanians laying on blankets, while their children waddled around [note the intentional removal of the verb, “swam”...I’ve never actually seen a Jordanian swim] in the “river” [which looks more like the shit-colored-lagoon next to my house in San Diego than a swimmable body of water]. Zaid, my host mom, and Ghada were in the first car while Emad (another host brother), Abdullah (Syrian cousin), Sarah (host sister) and I followed them in the second car, with agraad (the Arabic word for random, only half-useful things I usually like to refer to as crap) piled from our laps up to the ceiling of the car. We began our descent down to the “river,” and by descent I mean half-driving, half-skidding down an eighty degree angle dirt road. I started wondering how the hell we were going to make it back up the thing, but figured worst case scenario, i’d get a great picture of 10 Arab guys pushing a shiny, new red Honda up a dirt road. Apparently that thought didn’t cross their minds. We decided to change locations, going back up the nearly vertical dirt road, resulting in the car stalling [is that the correct car-term?], us sliding down backwards about five feet yelling a mix of English/Arabic cuss words, screams, and some “ALLLAH”s , before Emad remembered there was a thing called an emergency brake. When I looked out the window there were my 10 Arab guys, unfortunately I didn’t get the picture I was hoping for. They opened the doors yelling at us to get out while they each explained [more like yelled over one another] their theory for how Emad should get the car up the hill. Try #2...and #3 were an Epic fail, until Zaid took over and made it up. We continued on our journey, Zaid and Emad passing each other, yelling Arabic through open window for the two seconds their cars were parallel. Eventually Emad got pissed, and decided he wanted to go back home, resulting in us stuffing into one car for the remainder of the trip. We stopped at a gas station, putting straight up gas into a used empty water bottle, which I was informed was going to be used for our barbecue...I don’t know anything about barbecuing, or gas, but it probably would violate twenty laws in America. We ended up going to Al-Salt, the town where my whole host-families-family [more than 3,000 people] live, and own. We found a remote hill in the shade, I suggested the sun but that was quickly shut down as they reminded me of their desire to become pale [darker skin is seen as lower-class and Egyptian]. I guess I fit in here. My host mom and Ghada prepared over 50 skewers of meat [no, seriously] while Zaid barbecued the veggies and Sarah and I were the unemployed photographers, occasionally getting to turn a skewer or peel a vegetable. The whole cooking process took about two hours, where my job description expanded to include hand-feeding pieces of meat and chips to everyone. On to the important part of this story, the meat was THE BEST meat i’ve ever tasted in my life...and i’ve been to some classy steak houses in my twenty years of life. It was infused with Jordanian seasoning, barbecued perfectly on the outside [mabrook, Zaid] and tender on the inside. There were four different kinds of meat including sheep, chicken, beef, and the fourth remaining unknown, i’ve learned it’s better this way. As we were enjoying the food, my host mom promptly stood up and proclaimed, “la, haram!” Easiest translation: no, were good Muslims! We can’t let the neighbors smell the food and not bring them some! So she proceeded to wrap up kababs in pita and head on in to the house next to us. Zaid used the coals from the barbecue to set up arghella [hookah] and we smoked while drinking orange carrot juice, listening to my host mom explain to me what a pinecone is [she thinks we don’t have them in America], but it was extremely entertaining, and she was enjoying it, so I didn’t stop her. After her usual half-Arabic half-charades explanation, we were all worn out and decided to pack everything up and head back to Amman. The spread out buildings and green valleys of Al-Salt were slowly replaced with tall buildings, dirty streets, and the never ending sound of the horn, Jordanians favorite invention. Can you tell i’m happy to be back in Amman?
Ok i’m back. Don’t kill me. I’m aware that its been about 3 months, if not more since I’ve last written, and my last attempt at a blog post [a couple weeks ago, you may or may not have seen it], was a complete and utter disaster which was live for a whole 20 hours before deleting it. It was a rant, to say the least, which I realized could’ve been very easily misinterpreted if you had not read my previous posts. I deleted it after getting a nasty comment [directed towards Muslims] from an random person on Google. The Middle East has enough misconceptions, I didn’t want to contribute to it.
It is impossible to sum up the last 3 months. I left Amman for winter break, traveling to Tel Aviv, Paris, and Istanbul for 3 weeks, remembered what first world countries look like, and returned to Amman with a completely different view, and mindset of the place I had been living in for the past 4 months. Not only did I have to leave the Eiffel Tower and Tel Aviv beaches for shit-hole-Amman [comparatively of course], but all of the things that I had previously embraced as “cultural differences” seemed annoying, and often intolerable. I’m not talking about the small things such as “Arab time” (showing up a half hour-two hours after you say you are going to), or peeing in a whole in the ground. Those things don’t bother me. I’m talking about the sexual harassment and the lack of tolerance for diversity. Upon coming back to Amman, I went through a solid month of cultural depression, is that what you’d call it? I hated Amman. I hated men. I hated the 30 second walk to catch a taxi. I hated the taxi driver, who either asked me to marry him, or assumed I was a Russian prostitute. I hated it all. All I wanted to do was get on a plane going anywhere except Jordan.
I was disappointed in myself because I felt like I had failed. I felt that everyone in the past who had given me the “why the fuck are you going to Jordan” look, and wondered what I saw in the Middle East and in Arabs, won. I was questioning whether I could even live in another Arab country after this, and whether I had made the right decision staying the whole year. I thought that if I had left after the first 4 months, I would still have an optimistic and exciting summary of my time here to give to family and friends upon returning to America.
Now I realize that staying the whole year, as challenging and emotionally difficult as it is most days, is the most valuable thing I could have done for myself. I feel that if I had left with my original impression that everything is great and that the not-so-great things should just be accepted, I would have being doing myself and my education an injustice.
As corny as it sounds, there truly always will be a place in my heart for Jordan. I still have “holy shit i’m in the Middle East” moments, and find myself appreciating where I am and why I’m here. However, with a little over a month left, i’m not gonna lie...I am overjoyed to be headed to Israel. I’m ready for long hot showers, being able to wear shorts when I please, and laying on the beach without being dressed like a nun (although I do appreciate Jordanian clothing in the sense that I haven’t gotten sunburned in 8 months).
Going to go enjoy my hotel room, the first time i’ve been alone since...I don’t even know when. مع سلام
